The sound of glass shattering on the patio below seemed appropriate. They were breaking out, starting off new. Just like—
Well, maybe not just like their parents, Sabrina thought when she glanced over the balcony. Charlie was laughing and Nicole was pulling out of his embrace, trying to get away so she could stalk over to the balcony and scold Sabrina for being so careless.
Typical.
But even as Sabrina watched, Charlie managed to grab hold of his wife’s hand. He kissed Nicole on the cheek, placating her with a few murmured words, then raised a fist, shaking it playfully at his daughters. “Which one broke the glass?” he called. “A shard might have flown up and nicked my beautiful bride’s face.”
Sabrina and Mackenzie looked at each other and grinned. “Sorry,” they sang in unison, standing shoulder to shoulder.
There was no good reason for it, especially with grown-up responsibility and a crazy celibacy promise looming in her future, but Sabrina’s spirits soared when she looked into her parents’ upturned faces. Charlie was balding and Nicole had lost the battle of the bulge. They had wrinkles and graying hair and fallen arches. There had been sieges when they’d threatened that widowhood was an even better solution than divorce, yet here they were, holding on to each other, trying again, their timeworn faces glowing with love. What courage they had.
Maybe, Sabrina thought, recognizing that the tiny part of herself that still believed in love wasn’t buried as deep as she’d thought. Maybe this time….
1
Six weeks later
FLEXING MUSCLES and swirling chocolate—Sabrina Bliss was in heaven. I could get used to this, she told herself, immensely pleased to have found an aspect of her new job that would still be fun a year from now…if she stayed with it that long.
And she might if this kept up, even without an heirloom engagement ring at stake. How lucky could one woman get?
The sight of male muscles bulging and rippling over pots of melting chocolate or whizzing mixers was an everyday occurrence at Decadence. In her first week as lunch manager, she’d learned to time her breaks to catch ten minutes of the show as Kristoffer “Call me Kit” Rex concocted the day’s desserts. The renowned pastry chef almost always featured chocolate, his specialty.
Today Kit was working with semisweet chocolate, coconut and phyllo triangles. Sheets of the paper-thin pastry were stacked nearby under a dampened kitchen towel. He removed the cover of the food processor he’d used to chop the high-quality French chocolate he insisted on even though it took a big bite out of the restaurant’s dessert budget. He added softened butter and the toasted coconut to the mixture.
“Please pass me the knife.” The request didn’t register with Sabrina for a second or two because she was distracted with comparing Kit’s rich voice to an image of warm chocolate pouring over his naked body.
When she didn’t react, he reached for the knife, his bare arm brushing against hers. Skin on skin, the contact was as sharp and sensual as a swallow of chocolate-laced amaretto cream. She could gain weight merely listening to him. Actual touching brought her one chocolate kiss away from orgasm.
I shouldn’t be here, she reminded herself, thinking of her pact with Mackenzie. The temptation is too much.
Kit’s knife was a blur as he chopped almonds in five seconds flat. He scraped them into the food processor, his biceps bulging as he lifted the hefty chopping board.
Yum. Sabrina tried to smack her lips, but her tongue was parched. Probably from all the panting.
Kit replaced the lid and blended the chocolate with the other ingredients, shooting a sexy little grin at his audience of one. She grinned back at him, not even trying to hide her interest. Let him think she was a wanna-be chef or a slavering chocoholic. Anything but what she was—a sex-starved celibate who was ready to crawl inside his starched white chef’s coat and eat him whole.
He moved over a step and stirred a saucepan of melting butter on the stove. She used the inside of her loose V-neck tank to blot the dampness on her chest. The kitchen was always hot, but even if they were in an igloo, watching Kit cook would make her sweat.
At five-eleven, he was only an inch or so taller than Sabrina, but his nicely developed chest, arms and thighs more than made up for the slight lack of height. He had black hair that was one week’s growth away from shaggy, penetrating blue eyes and the kind of hollow cheeks and strong jaw that looked best shadowed with stubble.
Fortunately for Manhattan’s female population, his stubble usually complied.
Sabrina fanned herself. Oh, yeah, the man was hot. The gold ring that pierced his left ear gave him the look of a pirate. Even his eyelids were sexy—drooping slightly whenever he lapsed into a moment of silent brooding. He didn’t talk a lot when he cooked—or any other time, for that matter—but he was quick with a smile or a joke. He cared about people. She’d seen him quietly inquiring after the dishwasher’s college applications and the vegetable delivery guy’s daughter who had tonsillitis.
Kristoffer Rex had fascinated Sabrina ever since her first day on the job at Decadence, a Manhattan restaurant that was a major step up from serving burgers on roller blades. Not a single member of the kitchen crew or serving staff had a bad word to say about him, but none of them knew his story either. She’d asked outright—asked everyone but Kit. The essence of himself, who he was, where he’d come from and how he lived outside of the restaurant, had been kept strictly private. To learn more, she’d have to get closer to the actual man.
And that, given her bet with Mackenzie, was simply not going to happen.
Sabrina gave a silent, inward groan. She’d have to content herself with watching Kit make his chocolate desserts. Even if that raised her body temperature to the boiling point.
A strip of the phyllo dough had been laid out on the work surface. He brushed melted butter across it, then looked over at Sabrina. “Want to help?” Practically the first words he’d spoken to her, other than “Taste this,” or “Good morning.”
She caught her tongue between her teeth, then nodded. “Sure.”
“Come over here beside me.”
She pushed off the stool and went to stand next to him. He smelled like bittersweet chocolate, darkly sweet and delicious. Gobble, gobble, slurp, she thought, humming with vibrations at his nearness.
“You can be the folder.” Kit put a heaping spoonful of his chocolate mixture onto a corner of the pastry strip. He showed her how to fold the corner into a triangle, then again onto itself, continuing along the entire strip until the filling was wrapped in the airy layers of phyllo dough.
“Not bad,” Sabrina said as she transferred the pastry puff onto a baking sheet.
“You’re a natural, kid.”
She looked into his amused eyes. They gave her a charge, even though she could see that he was humoring her. The other chefs tended be high-strung and easily annoyed, so she’d learned to stay out of their way. But the pastry chef’s work station was set off to one side, and Kit didn’t seem to mind when she hung around.
Still…
Kid, huh?
